


A Season for Sharing

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: While You Were Sleeping (1995)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-15 10:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13028880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Instead of Saul, it was Jack listening in at the hospital when Lucy made her confession.





	A Season for Sharing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfectlystill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/gifts).



“Have you ever been so alone,” Lucy says, “you spend the night confusing a man in a coma?”

For a second, Lucy thinks that Peter might wake up. The possibility thrills even as it terrifies – maybe he heard only the tail end of her witty (heh) monologue, or maybe he was awake from the very beginning but kept his eyes shut out of curiosity for what she would say. And then, _and then_ , Peter would obviously understand what kind of person Lucy is, and find the entire misunderstanding charming instead of bizarre.

But Peter doesn’t move, not even an eyelid, and Lucy concedes that it’s perhaps too much to ask for another Christmas miracle. Lucy’s next thought is: oh my _God_ , it’s not a _miracle_ that Peter _fell on the tracks_ and almost _died_ , and having a brain that thinks those kinds of thoughts is possibly why she’s been saddled in this weird case of mistaken identity.

The hospital room is quiet, and Peter is still. Melancholy settles back in, and Lucy wonders yet again what she hoped to achieve by coming here tonight. Nothing’s changed. Peter’s still asleep, the Callaghans still think she’s something she’s not, and this Christmas is overall just one big—

Lucy jumps at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

She turns, and there’s a man standing at the threshold of the room. Not someone with the hospital, judging from his clothes.

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” he says carefully, “but you’re Lucy? The Lucy that’s supposed to be my brother’s fiancée?”

It takes Lucy a moment; her single encounter with the Callaghans had been an overload of names and events and family history, so it takes a few seconds to draw a line from ‘my brother’ to its full meaning. When it does, Lucy jumps up onto her feet, startled.

“J—” Lucy says slowly, “—John. Jack?”

“Jack.” The man smiles, but it’s not a particularly friendly smile. “Good try.”

Lucy thinks that she should panic. At the very least her stomach should be in knots like it’s been the whole day, long after she first left the hospital with Midge, Ox, Elsie’s voices ringing in her ear, and with her brain replaying over and over again the things she _should_ have said, dammit.

But no, there is no panic. Instead there is relief, which melts over Lucy and makes her knees weak. She grabs onto the back of the chair in time to sit back down, even as Peter’s brother – _Jack_ – raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, thank God,” Lucy says. “So you heard all of that? That’s – that’s good, that’s great.”

Jack’s eyes flicker sideways, as though in search of a hidden camera. “I don’t follow.”

“You _know_!” Lucy cringes and glances back at the bed, but Peter hasn’t stirred. She lowers her voice when she continues, “You know the truth, so that’s good. I tried to explain to your family but it happened so fast, and your grandmother, Elsie, her heart was already troubling her with what happened to Peter and—”

“Wait, slow down.” Jack fetches a spare chair from the other side of the room and sits down. His confused scowl doesn’t let up the whole time. “Let’s roll it back. You _are_ Lucy?”

“Yes.”

“The same Lucy that my mom was excitedly telling me about over the phone, the one that leapt onto the tracks to save Peter, who is also her fiancée?”

“Yes to the first part,” Lucy says, “but no to the fiancée part.”

“Right.” Jack rubs a hand over his face. “Okay. What _actually_ happened this morning?”

The words spill out of Lucy easily, like an avalanche. She tells Jack about her job at the station, of Peter coming in this morning, of his being mugged, of how he fell on the tracks. After that there’s the hospital, and the nurse who’d overheard Lucy’s _highly_ inappropriate shouldn’t-have-been-said-out-loud statement, and how that’d snowballed until she’d found herself being hugged and petted by a swarm of Callaghans delighted to meet her.

“So, yes,” Lucy says with a finishing flourish, “I’m a fraud. Never spoke a word to your brother before this morning. And I’m very, _very_ sorry about it.”

“You’re sorry that you pretended to be Peter’s fiancée, or you’re sorry that you never spoke a word to him before this morning?”

“The first one, oh God,” Lucy gasps. “I’m—I’m an awful person, I know—”

“Can you please stop saying that,” Jack says, exasperated. “You still saved my brother.”

Lucy snaps her mouth shut. Jack’s gaze moves away, past Lucy’s shoulder to his brother lying prone and quiet, and Lucy feels another flush of embarrassment over how she’d ruined Jack’s night, too. He’d come all this way to visit his brother, only to find her mess in the way.

Lucy ducks her head, trying to stay unobtrusive while Jack has his moment with his brother. There’s been no change from this morning but it’s still frightening to see Peter unconscious, and with only the minor scratches as tangible evidence that anything’s wrong. Lucy’s treacherous brain adds: still handsome, though.

 _That_ thought has her eyes sliding to Jack, finally registering the difference in his features from Peter. Where Peter is all striking and chiseled, Jack is softer and well-worn, rather like the denim jacket that he’s wearing. If Lucy only knew them both she might say that it’s strange that they’re brothers, but she’s met the rest of the Callaghans and… it’s Peter who stands out. Somehow, that feels right. Peter does stand out.

At long last Jack breaks the silence with a long sigh. “Of course he was working today.”

“I don’t think anyone in this room can comment on that.” When Jack fixes Lucy with a look, she adds, “Your mother might’ve mentioned that’s why you weren’t with them this morning? And—well—”

“You were working, too.”

“Exactly.”

“A good thing, in your case.” Jack shakes his head. “All right. So what are you going to do about your… situation.”

“Well, now that _you_ know, maybe you can help clear things up? I mean, before you came in here I was just hoping they’d forget that I exist.”

“Not a chance,” Jack says wryly. “They tell you about his last girlfriend?”

“Uh… Ashley?”

“That’s the one. You’re…” Jack looks her up and down, “…an improvement.”

Lucy shrinks a little into her sweater, discomfited. “They’d definitely change their mind once they find out I’m a fraud. But anyway, since you already know, _could_ you help out? At least you’d know how to actually tell them.”

Jack sighs again, but says: “They just met you the one time, right? It’ll be fine. I’ll tell them, no problem.”

“Thank you,” Lucy says, exhaling with relief. “You just earned so many Nice List points.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “For next year?”

“Never too early to start,” Lucy says, which earns her a huff of amusement from Jack. “But seriously, thank you. Your family is wonderful, and they’ve already had one not-so-great Christmas surprise with Peter’s accident.”

“Yeah, you can always count on Peter to make an impression on Christmas.” Jack adds quickly, “Sorry, I know that sounds mean, it’s…”

“No, I get it.” Lucy’s father used to joke a lot, too, towards the end there. She doesn’t say this out loud, but something must flash across her face because Jack immediately cringes. Lucy inhales sharply, suddenly aware that Jack didn’t just hear her admit to not being Peter’s fiancée; he heard everything else, and everything that brought Lucy here, to a place she doesn’t belong to, on this night of all nights.

“Hey, I—” Jack starts.

“I should go.” Lucy stands up and tries not to look flustered. “I’m just… hmm.” She smiles. “Happy Christmas, Jack Callaghan. It was nice to meet you.”

This time when Jack smiles, it’s genuine. “Nice meet you, too, Lucy not-my-brother’s-fiancée.”

Outside the hospital, Lucy stands on the sidewalk for a long moment and just breathes.

 

 

Jerry thinks the whole thing is hilarious when Lucy tells him about it the next day. Lucy makes a show of sighing and griping about it, but she takes Jerry’s amusement in good cheer. Lucy can already feel the events of yesterday coalescing into a little package in her head, where it will one day be known as That Funny Thing That Happened That One Time on Christmas.

Celeste would definitely get a kick out it, once Lucy gets to tell her about it. But that can’t happen yet because Celeste is still off for the holidays and their booth is, at the moment, still a booth of one. It’s quiet, almost as quiet as it was yesterday, but this time Lucy doesn’t mind – peace and quiet makes for a good change.

Unfortunately, that’s ruined later that morning, when it becomes clear that Lucy’s weird Christmas day has spilled over into a weird post-Christmas day.

Lucy’s in the booth, doing her thing and trying not to let her brain atrophy from the lack of traffic, when two palms practically slam against the frame of the window.

She jumps on her stool, then squints up at the figure who’s pressed up against the window. “Jack?”

“Hi there, Lucy not-my-brother’s-fiancée.” Jack’s words tumble out in a rush. “There’s a dinner tonight, and you’re invited.”

“Uh… why?”

“Here’s the thing.” Jack’s almost panicky, and is practically bouncing on his feet. “You didn’t mention that they liked you, like – they _really_ liked you, as if bells started ringing from up above in your presence, on what would’ve been an otherwise monumentally crappy Christmas—”

Lucy inhales sharply. “You didn’t tell them.”

“I…” Jack crosses his arms. “It wasn’t my secret to confess.”

“You _said_.” Lucy looks around quickly – there’s no one else around, and Jerry isn’t visible – and stabs a finger at the divider glass. “You said you’d do it, they’re your family.”

“You’ve met them, right?”

“I have, and I know for a fact that you grew up with them and would know how to break this kind of news! And you—you need to step back, I’m working.”

“Tonight, please.” Jack drops a card on the counter. “They didn’t get their Christmas dinner yesterday, so they moved it to tonight, and I honestly believe it’d be easier to tell them if there’s two of us. Look, I tried, I started to tell my mom, but she thought I was saying that I’d scared you _off_ from Peter and she got… Let’s just say that she was not happy, and believes that I owe you an apology. Then dad came in, and grandma came in and… I had to promise everyone that I’d make sure you’d show up tonight.”

Lucy feels herself bristling like a cornered cat, and seconds away from hissing at Jack to make him leave. But then Jack actually steps away from the booth, hands up and eyes apologetic. Lucy feels herself start deflate even as she tries to hold on to her annoyance. Jack may have a promised, but he's right, it _is_ Lucy’s problem in the end.

A customer passes through the turnstile, looking back and forth between Lucy and Jack in confusion. Lucy waits until they’re on the platform before calling out to Jack, “I—I’ll see what I can do.”

Jack flashes a thumbs-up, which is so incongruous and awkward that it startles a laugh out of Lucy. She covers for it by grabbing at the card he’d dropped on the counter, then flaps a hand in his direction, shooing him away.

“Callaghan and Son,” Lucy reads off the card. When she looks up, Jack’s already walking away, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. “Oh boy.”

 

  


Dinner at the Callaghans is a terrible idea. Lucy knew it when she took the card, she knows it even as she walks up to their house, and she _definitely_ knows it when Midge flings open the door and draws her inside with an excited, “You came!”

Inside, the Callaghan home is warm and cozy, like something out of a picture book except noisier thanks to said Callaghans talking over each other (which is a typical situation for them, and not just limited to hospital visits, Lucy realizes).

Greetings are sent Lucy’s way once they register her presence in the living room: Elsie’s face breaks into a wide smile, Saul offers a salute, and Ox nods with satisfaction from where he’s poking the fireplace. As for Mary, she practically bounds over to link her arm in Lucy’s, and then drags her to an empty chair.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Mary says. “Grandma was afraid we’d lost you.”

“Like Stella,” Elsie says. “That was a crying shame.”

“Stella’s our dog,” Ox tells Lucy. “And we didn’t lose her, Ma.”

“If you don’t know where someone is, that’s considered losing them,” Elsie says, which has them going off again – Elsie and Ox and Midge batting back and forth, with Saul offering the occasional aside. Lucy tries to keep up but her attention wavers when she notices Jack by the window, quiet and nursing a drink. He stiffens a little when she catches his eye.

“Look!” Mary says gleefully, setting a huge scrapbook in Lucy’s lap. “You’re going to love this.”

Lucy grimaces. “Actually, I should, um…”

“Is that the scrapbook?” Midge says. 

“Don’t skip the pages!” Ox exclaims. “It’s all chronological-like.”

Jack clears his throat. “I think Lucy wants to say something.”

Ox rolls his eyes. “Yeah, she’s saying thank you for bringin’ out the scrapbook. Keep going, but mind the edges, they’re crinkly.”

Lucy exchanges a look with Jack, who seems flustered, mouth hanging open on words he can’t get out. But the moment passes when Mary grabs at Lucy’s arm, and Elsie asks if they can change the TV to one of her shows. At Mary’s urging, Lucy finds herself looking down at the scrapbook, where a newspaper print of a boy’s face gazes up at her.

“That’s Peter?” Lucy asks, and Mary nods an affirmative. Lucy flips through the pages while Mary offers helpful commentary, pointing out Peter and occasionally Jack among the clippings. As Lucy reads, she marvels at how up until yesterday she hadn’t even known Peter’s name, and now here she is, browsing pages of his history and achievements.

Here she is, sitting with his family.

“What about you, honey?” Midge says. “Do you have family?”

“Oh, um…” This isn’t an uncommon question, but having so many pairs of eyes on her at once makes it a little harder to get out than usual. “My mom died when I was little, and although my father did a fantastic job without her, he sadly got sick a few years ago and had to call it quits.”

Mary presses in close, and tightens an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. “Aww, Lucy.”

“You have us now,” Ox declares.

“It’s like Peter sent you to us!” Elsie says cheerfully. “He couldn’t be here for us, and he couldn’t be here for you, so now you’re here _with_ us.”

“As close to perfect as it can get,” Saul says.

Ox nudges Saul and says, “Which is pretty damn good considering Peter’s track record for family holidays lately.”

“Ox!” Midge gasps.

Elsie’s laugh is wonderful, as is Mary’s heartfelt hug and Ox’s faint cackle of pleasure, but the knot in Lucy’s stomach twists tighter. She finds Jack’s eye again, but he seems even more at a loss than she is, and is drawn into a conversation with Saul that leaves Lucy by herself, studying the tableau of the Callaghans at Christmas and missing their golden son.

Lucy tells herself that there’ll be a better moment later. Surely there will be, and even if she misses, Jack will help as well. It’ll come.

But the night goes on, and the moment doesn’t come. Not during dinner, not during post-dinner drinks, and not during the exchanging of presents where Lucy gets a wholly undeserving present as well. Lucy almost doesn’t open said present at all, not until Jack sits down nearby and makes a small nod.

All in all, Lucy wants to call the whole thing a bust and just head home. Unfortunately, Midge isn’t having any of that last one, and insists that Lucy take the couch.

So it is that at the end of a very long night, Lucy finds herself alone in the Callaghans’ living room, a blanket wrapped around herself, and thinking very hard about what she might have done this past year to merit this kind of emotional special delivery from Santa.

“Hey,” Jack says quietly. Lucy looks up to where Jack’s standing in the doorway, hands in pockets and looking so sheepish that Lucy can’t even bring herself to be annoyed at how impotent they’ve been all night.

“Yeah. So. This—” Lucy makes a circular gesture in the air, “—was a bad idea.”

Jack steps into the living room and takes the nearest chair, the one that Saul had been sitting in for most of the night. “It was a good idea,” he says. “It’s just the timing that was bad.”

“But that makes the _whole thing_ bad.” Lucy lowers her voice and adds, “I shouldn’t be here. I’m an intruder.”

“If you want to be technical about it, I invited you, so you’re here as my guest. Which means that you’re _not_ an intruder.”

“Har har.”

“I’m serious.” Jack’s smile is lopsided and earnest. “It’s all weird inside, but on the surface? They needed this. It isn’t always this comfortable during the holidays here. Peter’s hours are all over the place, and I can’t even remember the last time he managed to do more than show his face during a family gathering. I’m not criticizing him for it, because what he does is important—” Jack adds that part quickly, maybe due to reading Lucy’s expression, “—but having you here? It was really nice.”

Lucy swallows. Truth be told, tonight was nice for her, too, but she’s been trying not to think about that because it’s not like she’d signed up to leech on another family’s Christmas cheer. But… it’s been wonderful, she’d had more hugs in these few hours than it feels like she’s had in months, and it feels _good._

It’s wrong, but it feels good.

When Jack said that it was nice to have Lucy here, her first instinct was to repeat the protest of her false pretenses. But that would’ve set off another round of their lobbying apologies and excuses at each other, and further bemoaning the trap they’ve found themselves in, which would be less than useless.

Thus Lucy ends up saying, “Yeah, it’s nice. The food was really good.”

“Even the eggnog?”

“Okay, maybe not the eggnog,” Lucy admits, which has Jack chortling. “But I got to see your kid photos. Very handsome.”

“Thank you, I try my best,” Jack says. “And you’ve already established that you have good taste.”

Lucy casts her eye around the living room, which is cluttered with color and trinkets and things of dubious historical value. That’s not even counting the Christmas décor, which is just _that_ little bit overdone and messy to be perfect. Stockings are lined up on the mantlepiece, each one of them named, Lucy’s included.

“I do.”

Lucy doesn’t mean that to sound so wistful, and there’s a second where she wishes that the couch would swallow her whole, but Jack just says, “Good thing, too, because Dad’s been going through the catalog and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking of giving you an engagement gift.”

“ _No_ ,” Lucy moans. “Why.”

“It’s not a big deal, relatively. It’s Christmas, so feelings are a little intense. Once they ease up, we’ll set this right, engagement gift included.”

“Ease up? Your brother is in coma, and we have no idea how long that’ll last.” Lucy sighs. “I thought that you knowing about this would help, but it hasn’t helped at all.”

“Hey!” Jack protests. “I’m helping. I – I helped deflect their questioning you about Peter during dinner.”

“And I’m sure that had nothing at all to do with that part where you were wiggling out of talking about work with your dad.”

“That is a low blow,” Jack says good-naturedly.

“Sorry,” Lucy says, though she’s grinning. “I do appreciate it, though. That you’re trying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Jack insists. “And hey, whatever happens later, I can’t regret two things. One, that we just had a very nice, very fun Christmas dinner; and two, that it was you who saved Peter. Even with what happened afterward, I’m glad it was you.”

Lucy wraps her blanket a little tighter around herself, despite her being warm enough already.

“Uh, I guess I’ll call it a night,” Jack says. “That blanket enough?”

“It’s fine,” Lucy says, shaking off his concern. “Good night, Jack.”

Jack smiles. “’Night, Lucy.”

 

 

It’s tempting to pretend that nothing happened at all, and thus do nothing about it.

Once Lucy leaves the Callaghans the next morning she considers doing just that; she could just go on with her life and never see any of them ever again. Out of sight, out of mind, no longer a problem. Unfortunately, that would require having to change jobs seeing as that they know where she works, and that would effectively mean uprooting her entire life.

Admittedly it’s not much of a life, but she likes it. Loves it. Can’t complain. Her apartment’s great, Mel’s the best cat in the world, Celeste and Jerry are wonderful, and even Joe Jr. is a sweetheart when he puts his mind to it.

Jack had a point in that feelings run high during the season, and that their best bet may be to wait it out, and in the meantime avoid all Callaghans so to avoid spinning any more lies that would make the eventual reveal more painful.

In the meantime: patience. Or procrastination, depending on how one looks at it.

Of course, Callaghans to be avoided don’t include Jack. Technically it shouldn’t include Peter either, and Lucy does feel like she owes it to visit him, but she could bump into the others at the hospital so that’s not a good idea.

Anyway, Jack. He’s the exception because he’s in on it, and two brains are theoretically better than one when it comes to figuring out the best way to spill the beans. This exception is also important in that Jack gets to field Callaghan interest in Lucy from the other direction.

Case in point: two evenings after the Christmas dinner, Jack shows up at Lucy’s apartment with the announcement: “Congratulations, it’s a sofa.”

“A sofa,” Lucy echoes. “It’s been my life-long dream to have a sofa.”

“It’s pretty nice. We refurbished it, and uh…” Jack’s gaze wanders past Lucy into her apartment, and Lucy tries her best to not self-consciously block the view, “…I think it’d look great in here.”

“You are kidding me,” Lucy says flatly. “I’m not taking a present for an engagement that doesn’t exist.”

“It’s gotta go somewhere. It’s in the truck, and it’s not like I can stash it anywhere else.”

“How about Peter’s?”

“Now you’re the one who’s kidding,” Jack scoffs.

Lucy narrows her eyes. “Are you trying foist it on me just because you brought it all the way here? Because I’m not going to play. Let’s take it to Peter’s. Move. Come on.” She grabs her coat while Jack hems and haws, but he has to know that she’s right. “Get with it, Jack. I’m not adding theft to my rap sheet.”

“Is it really theft if – ow, I’m going, we’re going.”

They take Jack’s furniture truck – a Callaghan & Son’s furniture truck – the surprisingly short distance to Peter’s apartment. During the journey, Lucy admires the sofa she won’t accept, and is impressed with Jack’s skill of furniture-making. Jack reports that Lucy is invited to another dinner that Jack will deflect for her, and is impressed by Lucy’s explaining how she got her Christmas tree into her apartment.

At Peter’s place, they learn that it’s easier to gain access to the building than it is to get the sofa up all the way to his apartment. They do manage, somehow, albeit with some damage to Peter’s doorway (they’ll fix it) and then Lucy… looks around.

Peter Callaghan’s apartment is neat, clean, functional, with a _lot_ of space and set in mostly-neutral colors. Lucy stands in the foyer for a long moment, surprised how surprised she is that it’s so different from his parents’ home. But she then thinks back on what little she knows of Peter – rising star, hot-shot lawyer, capped teeth – and admits that the apartment fits that overall vibe.

Lucy looks down at her boots, her sweater, her woolly winter coat that she’d mainly bought because it reminds her of what her dad used to wear. Then she looks back up and tries to picture herself actually living in this apartment.

“It’s a good spot,” Jack says. “Lucy, you okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yes, that’s good.” Lucy wanders deeper into the apartment, resisting the urge to touch the smooth, spotless surfaces. There’s a faint tinkling sound, and Lucy gasps, “A cat! You didn’t tell me he has a cat.”

“You’re obviously soulmates,” Jack says.

“Hey!” Lucy protests, though with more heat than she actually feels. She crouches low, and coos when the cat sniffs at her hand curiously. “Like you’ve never projected your hopes and dreams on another person before? It happens. Aren’t _you_ a nice kitty? Yes, you _are._ ”

“That’s not his cat, either,” Jack says, voice oddly gentle. “Trust me, if Peter had a cat, he wouldn’t be calling it Fluffy. We only found out about it—”

“Her,” Lucy says.

“We only found out about _her_ because there was cat food among his belongings that the hospital handed over. High-tailed it over here to check on her before anyone started wondering why _you_ weren’t already taking care of her.”

“That’s so nice,” Lucy says. “Jack, no, seriously. That is very decent of you. Maybe he was cat-sitting for someone. Man, I am the worst fiancée, bailing on a lonely kitty.” She stops up short, an idea prickling. “That’s it. I _am_ the worst fiancée ever.”

“What’s that?”

“I _dump_ Peter.” Lucy stands up, excited. “I’m an awful person who dumps my fiancée while he’s in a coma. Your family will want to have nothing to do with me ever again.”

Jack frowns, confused. “But you saved his life.”

“Because I’m awful, but I’m not a _murderer_! Help me out here, Jack.” Lucy starts pacing, careful to avoid Fluffy as she goes. “We were engaged but our relationship was on the rocks because… because he’s a workaholic and I felt neglected. No, _I’m_ the bad fiancée, not him, so our relationship was on the rocks because I… wasn’t supportive of his career.”

“All right,” Jack says slowly.

“We were close to breaking up – oh! I wasn’t just unsupportive, I was _cheating._ I cheated on him, and I was going to confess it and run away with the other guy. I had it all planned out, but since it’s Christmas, I decided to have a tiny amount of tact and wait for later.”

“Then whammo, the accident happened,” Jack says. “Peter’s in a coma, so no break-up.”

“Exactly!”

“What happens when Peter wakes up and everyone asks him about you?”

“I’ll be long out of the picture by then, so it doesn’t matter. And they’ll already hate me, so what’s another thing to hate for on top of that? I bet they’ll just be relieved that they’d already gotten rid of me.”

“I feel like there’s flaws in this plan,” Jack says. “Who were you cheating with?”

Lucy thinks. “Joe Jr.”

Jack makes a face. “The guy in your apartment? You went from Peter to that?”

“Hey, Joe Jr.’s not all that bad.”

“I feel like there’s flaws in this plan,” Jack says. “It still involves dropping a bombshell on everyone. If we couldn’t tell them the truth, why on earth would we tell them this?”

“This is not the actual bombshell,” Lucy says. “This is the excuse for me to stay away from your family until all the strong Christmas feelings have died down, and _then_ drop the bombshell. It’s exactly the same thing you suggested, except you don’t have to make any more excuses about why I’m not visiting Peter, or spending time with them.”

It made sense in Lucy’s head, but Jack’s expression is of conflict and confusion. Lucy steeples her hands under her chin, eyes wide and mouth shut so to allow Jack his deep contemplation. The only sound in the apartment is Fluffy winding her way between their legs, her bell tinkling softly.

“I don’t know,” Jack says at least. “The first mistake was an actual mistake, but this is… this is mean.”

“How is it mean?” Lucy asks, exasperated.

“It’s mean to you.” Jack’s gaze shifts off to the middle-distance, which is a good thing, because Lucy’s stomach flips and she’s not sure he wouldn’t see it in her face. “You were the angel who saved Peter, and then you’re going to be the… the one who cheated on him and was going to break up with him on Christmas.”

“Wouldn’t…” Lucy clears her throat. “Wouldn’t it be better for them to be angry instead of sad?”

“I don’t like it.” Jack shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Lucy should feel more disappointed than she is. She’s pretty sure that if Jack just said _no_ outright, she’d push back a little harder, wheedle a little harder. As it is, she only has uncertainty and awkwardness for company, plus the realization that Jack genuinely, truly, doesn’t think she’s an awful person.

She’d tried not to let herself think that during the Christmas dinner. It was better to assume that Jack’s kindness was a general thing, and derived from pity of the sad, lonely woman who has no family. Jack does feel sorry her (which is all right, and Lucy’s used to it) but it’s not just that.

It’s not _only_ that.

“Back to square one, I guess,” Lucy says. “We should, um…”

“Right, right,” Jack says, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Let’s go.”

Jack means to drop Lucy off on his way back, but that’s a no-go when they discover that his truck’s been blocked in. Lucy offers her commiserations, but can’t help but laugh when she sees Jack’s petulant snarl.

“It’s only overnight,” Lucy says. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“I’m walking you back,” Jack says. “You can abandon me later. Just let me walk you.”

“All right,” Lucy says, “but only because you asked nicely.”

She half-expects Jack to change his mind ten, maybe fifteen minutes in the cold, but no – Jack walks her all the way home, their steps relaxed and unhurried. They talk about their families, about Chicago, about Lucy’s attachment to her passport that Jack seems to find genuinely charming and not-at-all weird.

Then, in front of her apartment building, Lucy slips on the ice and automatically reaches for Jack for support, and things take a turn for the… different.

By the time they make it off the ice and Lucy’s finally alone in her apartment, her whole body’s tingling, and she can’t stop smiling.

At the back of her mind she knows that she shouldn’t be thinking these things, shouldn’t be enjoying _any_ of it, but at the moment, she doesn’t care.

 

 

The next few days are quiet and normal.

They’re so quiet and normal that Lucy starts to think that she’d dreamed everything from Christmas onward in a fit of holiday boredom and gloominess, if only to have something to tell Celeste when she comes back in to work.

But when Celeste does come back in to work, the story that Lucy thought would’ve been funny to tell seems hollow and not worth bringing up at all. The early parts that Jerry already knows may be kinda exciting: Peter falling on the tracks, and what happened with Peter’s family at the hospital. But the parts _after_ that, of old yearnings Lucy’s kept bottled up inside suddenly finding release? That’s harder to talk about, if she can voice them out loud at all.

There’s also Jack, whom in retrospect Lucy realizes should not have been that easy to conspire with. When was the last time Lucy found an easy rhythm with someone like that, let alone felt a spark with that she didn’t merely conjure in a daydream? There was something there – a may be, a could be, a what if – before it passed and the days went back to being quiet and normal.

Jack’s made no contact since the night they’d delivered the sofa to Peter’s place, so Lucy can only assume that the Callaghans are either no longer interested in her, or that Jack’s successfully blocked all their attempts to contact her. Maybe he’d even used the story she’d suggested. Maybe he’d even manage to tell the truth about everything.

Whatever the reason behind the silence, the lack of Callaghans is exactly what Lucy wanted. She should be relieved, content, and grateful.

Unfortunately, it takes active effort to remember that. It also takes effort to not let her imagination run wild the way it did with Peter, because there’s really no use in imagining that she’s _really_ seeing Jack’s van pass in front of her apartment, or that she’s _really_ spotting a flash of plaid and denim in the crowd when she walks home from work.

 

 

New Year’s Day comes and goes. The L starts picking up traffic, familiar commuters start trickling back in, and Lucy spares a smile and season’s greetings for whoever needs it. Inertia is exerting itself back to the same old, same old.

One evening, Lucy clocks off for the day and starts walking home, fully expecting that this typical day will be like other typical days both past and future. She spends the walk thinking about her shopping list, her new year’s resolutions, and how long she’s going to leave the Christmas tree up. She even briefly contemplates (and rejects) the possibility of calling Jack just to make sure that everything’s okay, but before moving on to other thoughts.

And then.

A block away from her apartment, she sees it: a cluster of people standing around two parked cars. There are raised voices – _familiar_ raised voices. Lucy picks up her speed, boots crunching loudly on the snow.

There’s Midge, Ox, Mary, and Saul standing around, and one of the cars has a door open, letting Elsie sit down and swing a leg idly in the air. There’s also Jack and his sheepish body posture, taking what seems to be a berating from his parents.

“Lucy!” Midge exclaims.

“Young lady,” Ox says, “you have some explaining to do.”

“What – what’s going on?” Lucy looks wildly between them, and notices the blue-black around Jack’s left eye. “Oh my god, Jack, what happened to your face?”

“Peter’s awake,” Elsie says happily. “He says hello.”

Jack smiles ruefully. “My brother’s got a helluva mean right hook for a man who just came out of a coma.”

Lucy’s mouth drops open. “Peter _punched_ you?”

“Not like he don’t deserve it,” Ox says.

“Ox,” Saul says, “let the lady tell her side of it.”

“Tell me my…” Lucy takes a deep breath, plants her feet, and faces the half-dozen pairs of eyes watching her. “Wait a minute. Rewind. Peter’s awake?”

“Today,” Midge says. “And of course we told him about how you saved his life, and that we were all sorry that we didn’t get to meet you earlier.”

“But he has amnesia,” Mary says.

“Partial amnesia,” Ox echoes. “Doctor’s still checking what he remembers, but he’s definitely forgotten about you.” Lucy’s eyes flicker briefly to Jack’s, just long enough to catch his grimace.

“But is it true?” Midge approaches Lucy, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Is it… I thought maybe I came on too strong, I do that, but I was just so _happy_ that Peter found such a wonderful girl. But then Jack said that you were busy, and that’s why you haven’t been visiting Peter or coming to the house. Is that true? Is it really because you’re busy?”

“Um,” Lucy says.

“What she’s really tryin’ to ask,” Ox says, “is if you’re avoiding us because you’re busy, or because we’re too much, or because you actually cheated on Peter.”

“Oh!” Elsie gasps. She takes Mary’s hand, and then scowls up at Ox. “Do you have to put it like that?”

“Just repeating it, Ma,” Ox says.

“Lucy?” Midge says.

“I…”

A part of Lucy feels that she should have prepared for this, but how could _anyone_ be prepared for this? She takes in each of their expectant gazes in turn, but before that can unsettle her, she remembers the yawning stretch of empty that’s been the last few days. She knows what’s in her future, and she’d accepted that.

She’d been waiting for the right moment to square things, and here it is.

“I didn’t cheat on Peter,” Lucy says, and a collective sigh passes through most the group. “But that’s because there wasn’t any—”

“I told you,” Elsie says.

“Just relax there, Elsie,” Saul says. “You really should’ve waited at the hospital.”

“I knew it,” Midge says. “It couldn’t be. I told myself, there’s no way—”

“Are you sure?” Ox says, while Midge makes a sharp, offended sound. “Because you and Jack have been mighty cozy lately.”

Lucy flushes. “What?”

“Christmas dinner,” Ox says. “We heard the two of you movin’ around downstairs, palling it up. Thick as thieves, despite the fact that you’d supposedly never met any of us before.”

“And the sofa,” Mary says, flinching when Lucy looks at her.

“Yeah.” Ox nods. “Jack came back really late after delivering the sofa.”

“And Jack gets this _look_ whenever he talks about you,” Saul says.

“That’s just being friendly!” Midge exclaims.

“He does sound very fond of Lucy,” Elsie says.

Lucy blinks. “You think I’m cheating on Peter with Jack?”

Jack points at his bruised eye. “Peter believed it.”

“But he doesn’t even _know_ me!” Lucy exclaims.

“They were very helpful in sharing all the information Peter missed,” Jack says dryly. “I’m sorry, I was busy this morning. By the time I got to the hospital, they’d told him ‘everything’.”

“I think you better stop right there, son,” Saul says.

“I,” Lucy says firmly, “am definitely not cheating on Peter with Jack.”

“Really?” Ox says. “You got no feelings whatsoever for Jack?”

That brings Lucy up short. It’s just maybe a half-second where her brain freezes up, but that’s enough, because the Callaghans immediately erupt in noise and accusations and wailing, while Jack stares at Lucy, stunned. Lucy feels heat prickle up her neck, but she’s pinned in place by Jack’s gaze. It’s such a shame that it’s too late to do something intelligent like, say, turning tail and running as fast as her boots can carry her.

Then Jack smiles. It’s a small smile, but genuine and pleased and oh so unbelievably handsome. It’s like the sun coming up, and sets something sparkling deep in Lucy’s chest.

“I was never engaged to Peter,” Lucy says. Then, because no one’s listening, she says louder, “I was _never_ engaged to _Peter_.”

Mary hears her first. She flails her hands a little, trying get the others to pay attention. “Mom, Dad.”

“I’m really sorry everyone,” Lucy says, as the rest of them slowly, finally, turn towards her. “But I was never engaged to Peter. There was a misunderstanding at the hospital—”

“What do you mean, a mis—” Midge starts, only for Saul to stop her with a touch on a shoulder.

Lucy takes a deep breath. “This is what actually happened. Elsie, are you feeling okay? All right, here we go. To start with, I don’t actually know Peter.”

It’s the same story she told Jack, but with two major differences. The first difference is that it’s a little longer, for it’s including events after the initial misunderstanding at the hospital. The second difference is that when Lucy starts to talk about how she’d accepted their invitation to dinner, Jack steps forward, moving next to Lucy as he speaks up.

“It’s on me, too,” Jack says. “I found out about it at the hospital, the first night I went to visit Peter. I bumped into her while she was there, and I said I’d help her find a way to tell all of you.”

“You _knew_?” Ox says. “You knew the whole time?”

“Not the whole time, but almost,” Jack says. “Look, she already feels really awful about it and—”

“Jack, no,” Lucy says. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you, all of you. You were in pain that day with Peter’s accident, and I should’ve tried harder to speak up, but you were so happy at the – the _idea_ of me, and I didn’t want to ruin that. And it was even worse when I got to know you better.”

“Even worse?” Elsie echoes, her voice soft and curious.

“You’re wonderful,” Lucy says, and this part, at least, is easy to say. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a Christmas like this, to be surrounded by such – such _love_. Each and every one of you deserve the best Christmas ever, so I was afraid – no, I was _angry_ , because one way or another I would have to ruin it for you. So I put it off.”

“Lucy—” Jack starts.

“Jack was just trying to help,” Lucy says. “It’s on me. I’m very, very sorry.”

Silence falls over the group, and Lucy finally turns away. Relief hits like a punch in the gut, and it’s actually… good. It hurts, but it’s good, and the next rattling breaths of fresh air that Lucy breathes in feel cleansing.

Mary speaks up first. Surprisingly, it’s to address Jack. “I can’t believe you knew the whole time.”

“At least she didn’t cheat on Peter,” Ox says.

“Oh my god,” Midge says with a low gasp. “Does this mean Peter’s still with Ashley?”

“We should probably head back to the hospital,” Saul says. “Peter’s still recovering, and we did leave in a lurch.”

“Yeah, we should find that nurse, too,” Ox says darkly. “How’d she go around assuming—”

“Ox!” Midge says.

“My ankles are cold,” Elsie says.

Lucy takes a step back, seeing as the rest of the Callaghans have already shifted their attention away, and are busy debating about going to Peter and getting Elsie warm and other things that Lucy doesn’t quite catch. She passes by Jack as she goes, and opens a hand in a vague wave goodbye.

Jack whispers a quick, “Go, it’s fine. They need to process.”

“See you.” Lucy casts one glance back, and nobody stops her as she walks the rest of the way to her apartment, taking deep breaths as she does.

 

 

Closure feels good. It’s not _perfect_ closure, but it’s pretty damn close. Lucy sleeps well and finally wakes up without loose-thread restlessness itching in every limb. Mel seems to sense Lucy’s calm and is particularly cuddly, which is nice except for where Lucy ends up almost being late for work.

It’s a good thing she isn’t, either, because then she might’ve ruined Jack’s surprise visit to the station that very morning.

The sun is up, Lucy’s feeling good, there are tokens to be accepted. Then there’s Jack, walking up to her booth all confident and easy, and Lucy sits up straight on her stool.

“Hey,” Jack says.

Lucy completely fails to stifle her smile. “Hey.”

Jack makes a quick check for the crowd, and then makes a show of leaning against the counter. “Word on the street is that you have feelings for me.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“True. Which is why I’m here on a fact-finding mission. You have any intel that might be useful?”

Lucy inclines her head, and pointedly ignores the curious noises Celeste is making behind her in their shared booth. “I might. But it’s gonna cost you.”

“How about dinner?” Jack says. “I pick you up, say… six?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I think I can squeeze you in.” Lucy grins, and raises a warning finger when Jack makes a face at her. “Just, um… How’s Elsie? And your parents?”

Jack’s mouth quirks. “They have very strong opinions about where I should take you for dinner.”

“Oh.” Lucy feels the world tilt a little. If she were standing she’d have to sit down, but she’s already sitting down, so the only thing she can do is stare at Jack, who is real and not a dream and truly standing outside her booth. “That is… wow.”

“I’ll say,” Jack says with a laugh. “Let’s just say that you’ve had a bigger impression on everyone that either of us thought. I guess we can talk about that later? Don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Yes, I think I’ve had my fill for the _whole_ year,” Lucy says. “See you at six.”

Jack beams, as though Lucy’s the one who’s making all his dreams come true, which is the wackiest thing in the world. Okay, maybe not the _wackiest_ thing in the world, but Lucy’s life has been pretty simple up until the last few weeks, so her baseline is pretty low.

“Looking forward to it,” Jack says earnestly.

Lucy waits until Jack disappears down the street, then presses her gloved hands to her mouth and screams quietly.

It’s going to be a good – nay, _excellent_ – year.


End file.
